Cherokee. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      When the waiter arrived, they ordered a variety of dishes. Adam spoke a little Cantonese, enough to surprise Sarah and please the grinning waiter. Sarah wondered if Adam had learned the language on the Internet. He appeared to know a lot more than just the history of fortune cookies.

      “Ancient cultures fascinate me,” he told her. “I had some training in traditional Chinese medicine. It’s an integral part of their philosophy and religion. Much like the Native American culture.” He lifted his tea. “I’ve been reading about the Cherokee.”

      Sarah frowned. She didn’t want to discuss her heritage. And coming from Adam, the term Native American sounded almost glamorous. A far cry from her roots. She was just a simple Indian girl from Oklahoma.

      “Where did you get your formal training?” she asked, hoping to steer clear of Cherokee subjects.

      “First I attended a school of herbal studies in Northern California, then transferred to a university in London”

      “London? You went to school in England?” Maybe he was more of a world traveler than she had originally thought. “Did you like living there?”

      “Sure. It’s a beautiful country, and the University of Westminster was an excellent school.”

      His casual response made her feel even more Indian, and she hated the feeling. Adam’s adoptive mother might have been Latino, but he’d been raised in a predominantly white world. Apparently his brown skin hadn’t hindered his experiences. “It sounds exciting, but expensive, too.”

      “My dad was an accountant, one of those conservative guys who saved money for his son’s education. We weren’t rich, but I didn’t go without, either.”

      His adoptive father must have been an honorable man, she thought with a twinge of admiration and a sting of envy. Sarah’s father hadn’t saved a dime. She had struggled to pay for her own schooling.

      Their dinner arrived, and they ate in silence, his gaze catching hers between bites. Feeling shy, she glanced away. His mouth fascinated her. The way he moistened his lips before he lifted the fork.

      He leaned toward her, and suddenly, foolishly, she wished the table wasn’t between them.

      “Sarah?”

      “Yes?”

      “Are you enjoying your meal?”

      She nodded, even though her stomach was still alive with nerves, the flutter of feminine anxiety. “Yes. It’s quite good.”

      He smiled, and she took a deep breath, recalling the warmth of his skin.

      Night settled in the sky, scattering stars around a quarter moon. Adam and Sarah walked through the Chinatown courtyard, strolling in and out of boutiques. Adam loved the area. A few of the vendors knew him by name. He spent a lot of time in Chinatown, purchasing herbs and admiring the culture.

      He turned to look at Sarah. As many times as he came here, he had never brought a date. Not until today.

      She smiled a little shyly, and he considered holding her hand. Then reconsidered when she clutched her purse strap with the hand closest to his. There was no point in pushing too hard. If something developed between them, it would happen naturally.

      “Have you been to Chinatown before?” he asked.

      “Once, when I first moved here.”

      “And when was that?”

      “Six years ago. I was eighteen at the time.”

      Adam nodded. He could almost see her, fresh out of high school—a little Oklahoma girl heading for the golden state. She was still little, he realized. Small and feminine in a way that made him yearn to protect her. But whether or not she would welcome protection, he couldn’t be sure. In spite of her petite frame, independence shone through. She didn’t have to tell him that she had ventured to California alone.

      Independent yet vulnerable. Suddenly Adam was reminded of the stray cats that came to his door, the smooth, sleek creatures he couldn’t seem to resist. He gave them their space, but he fed them, too. And those scouting a cozy place to sleep inevitably found their way into his bed.

      Adam looked at Sarah again, wondering if she would find her way into his bed. If she would nuzzle and purr, arch and stretch against him. A smooth, sleek creature he wouldn’t be able to resist.

      Frowning, he shook his head. She wasn’t a lost kitten. And he was thinking with his libido, creating sexual scenarios on a first date. So much for not pushing too hard.

      “What’s your favorite thing about California?” he asked, forcing himself to clear his mind.

      She stopped to gaze at a window display. “That’s easy.” Turning toward him, she smiled. “The beaches. I love the sand and the surf. I like to go there at dusk, when it’s quiet.”

      She sighed, and Adam pictured her at the beach on a windy day, dressed in an oversize sweater and jeans, her waist-length hair blowing in the breeze. “You collect shells, don’t you?”

      She widened her eyes. “Yes. How did you know?”

      Because he could see her walking along the shore, shells glinting in her hand like pieces of eight. She was, he decided, a woman who appreciated simple treasures. “A good guess, I suppose. Do you want to check out this shop?”

      “Sure.”

      They entered the boutique and scanned the crammed interior. It held a collection of goods, many of them jewelry and trinkets, shiny items meant to attract a woman’s eye. Sarah looked around, then wandered over to a small circular rack of clothing. Intrigued, Adam watched her.

      She admired a satin dress, tilting her head as she stroked the shiny red fabric.

      “It’s pretty,” Adam said, noting the traditional mandarin collar and intricate embroidered design.

      “Yes.” Her voice held a note of feminine awe.

      The proprietor, a tiny Chinese woman offering a friendly smile, walked over to them. She was old, Adam thought, ancient and charming. She patted Sarah’s shoulder with a gnarled hand.

      “You try on,” she said, her accent making her English choppy.

      Sarah turned, hugged the garment in a startled reaction. “Oh, no. Thank you, though.”

      “We have a private fitting room.” The woman pointed to a corner where an ornate brass rod housed a silky green drape.

      “I’m just browsing.” Sarah replaced the dress, giving it one last glance.

      The old woman said, “Okay,” then headed toward the front counter.

      Perplexed, Adam studied his date. She had looked at the garment with longing, yet refused to indulge herself. Sarah Cloud was a mystery, a dark-eyed princess who wore plain clothes and collected seashells at dusk. He didn’t know how to pursue her, wasn’t sure if he should try. She confused as much as fascinated him.

      “Why СКАЧАТЬ